Sunday, April 14, 2013

On The Mesa

                                                                                                                     for Don and Pamely Lichty

There is much love that goes wasted on the sides of morning
when "skating in Vermont" means living in the desert
& sitting on top of the world is a delicate song
rocking with the windmill from Jemez to the Sangres
the same old steps again Wisconsin New York Kansas Europe
bobbing with the knocking in groan Tibetan horn wind-
mill burns the Peter Hurd off the canvas morning where
the panorama stares back Sandias in the morning
cobalt blue the haze forever lifted from the eyes as
we walk up the ladder thru adobe built up to the cedar
bedroom out to see the new roof flat black asphalt
mopped under pebbles & the frying pan full of piss
to float eyes out from this top of the mesa
into love that goes wanting in disheveled cities slid
awkward down the pilings of earth twist out
& fold levels fold & geology present Miller's
from Milwaukee or Azusa or Fort Worth sitting
on the mesa tipped in tipped in love gone sliding thru
stuff under tarps woodpiles things live underneath
our pointer after mice birds wind & exotic
religion sides with our insides     you connect the landscape 
as land forms form out     chile & beans with salt pork 
pressure cooked   stares in the afternoon Die-Hard battery 
to work the TV seldom on just looks & doesnt look back
we have filtered out our present built up our logs on 
this ship launched out
added special twists & uncorked Tulemare Dew made
Irish coffee & worshipped night      in daytime
way way north of Placitas     the road turns
around where you live     & everything stands
up to lay down     before the fire on a clear     cool warm
day     day New York New York Wisconsin New Mexico
Sunday      the new room     with cedar ceiling builds
the history     building     our history      the movie finds itself
entrapped in the heart     Rebel Without a Cause
stares from the kerosene lamps whose reflectors of glass
are insides of vacuum bottles     carefully positing
every step along the way     a narrative     of where we
stand     or sit      build a new door out of
split wood held together     by dust off the palms
& the working sweat    of the morning beer
take it easy     & care no care     until caring everything
is love in air      creaking under      the depression    out there
mesas build on mesas flow out from volcanic core
in the frozen warmed present November
I come to sing     Woody Guthrie Hank Williams Kell D. Robertson
if I had a guitar      I couldnt sing a song
but talk in the round of four-fold friends comes
singing around     the corner.      There are no corners here
where    in the dust lit up     Joel plays     & the dogs romp
& play on this mesa     in this mesa in our hearts     we flow
from the center of the fire.

larry goodell / placitas, new mexico


(the photographs are from the Open Space north of Placitas in a mesa area much like
where the poem took place . . . houses have built up around where our dear friends,
the Lichtys, lived in the early 70's).

This poem is a testament to a wonderful place and wonderful friends . . .
                                                                                                                                              larry goodell